Willow
by Theyumenoinu
Summary: They say every renowned relationship begins with a pivotal moment, and as he clung to the finely toned form, burrowing himself against the heat of the Vulcan's body, it was then he realized this was one of those moments. The start of something simply unimaginable. Eventual K/S SLASH. Rated T for now.
1. Impia I

**A/N: So, it's been awhile since I've written anything for TOS. And I'm being so prolific right now with hardly any time on my hands (I'm out of my damn mind), but yet I can't resist a fresh idea when it comes just knocking on the door. Guh! **

**Anyway, in the series we came in about halfway through their mission, so I figured why not start at the beginning? Of course, this will be a little AU-ish (not completely), and I will mention certain missions of the show. And yes this will eventually turn into SLASH, but it will be quite a slow build—a nice little trek up the mountain to the peak, so to speak. This will have about four or five arcs to it, so it will be lengthy and will probably take me awhile to write each chapter—so I wish to thank you for your patience now. Hope you enjoy!**

**P.S: Yes, I will grovel—please review, I greatly appreciate hearing how you enjoy or dislike certain parts of the story. I can't promise to reply to ALL reviews, but just be aware I do read them. **

**Pairing: Eventual K/S**

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own the Star Trek franchise or its characters.**

* * *

**Willow**

* * *

**Arc I**

* * *

**Impia I**

* * *

_Jim Kirk always knew he'd die alone._

_It wasn't quite a precarious assumption, more intuitive than supposition. Summing up his innate knowledge to be instinctive given his choice of occupation—accepting the predisposition of his demise to be his inevitable fate. However, if someone were to demand an exposition of his point of view on the matter, he would simply be rendered uncommunicative—seeing as he had no plausible reasoning that could possibly establish the postulation. It was simply a gut feeling and that was that. _

_Nevertheless, as he lied pinned under a considerable weight of the massive heap of bowed metal, protruding rods, and fractured wood, he beheld a familiar and yet unfamiliar face emerging through the mesh. The man had slumped to his knees, attempting to pry the fragments of the demolished bridge apart to reach him, but to no avail. Jim appreciated the feeble effort, he supposed—feeling a pang of self-reproach as he suddenly acknowledged that this unidentified individual would forever retain his death on his conscious. He would undoubtedly endure countless fitful nights, replaying the situation in his mind, envisaging the options he had overlooked, the possible scenarios that could have been. _

_Jim pitied him._

_His death was never meant to be witnessed, especially by someone who remained nameless. Then he thought, perhaps it was more desirable to welcome death in the company of a stranger rather than steadily succumb to the eternal slumber while meagerly offering consolation to someone he deeply cared for—certainly opting for this circumstance versus the latter. _

_Still, he could not shake the sudden disappointment and solemnity he felt flood over him at this precise moment as his organs commenced their inevitable failures. The final sight he'd behold would be the sullen face of this man and not that of someone else he yearned for, to not be cradled gently in arms that possessed enough strength to snap bone, or be offered reassurance that he wouldn't fade away with time._

_Jim sincerely wished that person would replace this unknown man. To have this person whom he failed to conjure up a face or name for—yet comprehended their connection reached a depth that he could not possibly fathom—be present and allay his unbridled emotions. This desire to have them present; however, would unfortunately go unfulfilled as the darkness encompassing his sight steadily began to infiltrate the remainder of his vision. Chest ablaze as his lungs collapsed, his ruined body graciously permitted him to murmur a final statement that he was almost certain had been unintelligible. Only mere seconds from plunging deep into the abyss beyond, an unexpected conduit burst open at the back of his skull, a maelstrom of memories and thoughts that didn't belong to him flooded the plane of his consciousness without constraint. _

_Identifying the presence almost instantly, he felt his lips twitch with a smile. Reveling in the familiarity of the conscious he'd previously considered unreachable, he found himself immensely grateful that the final memory would be of the soothing detached voice reverberating through his mind as he slipped away:_

"_Jim…"_

He woke with a start, greeted by the suffocating darkness. Panic smashed into him as his mind reeled, centering his chaotic thoughts while desperately attempting to recall his current location.

"Lights." He called with a shaky voice, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the abrupt brightness that flooded the room.

Through bleary vision and a sleep-addled brain, he assayed the interior of his sleeping quarters—acknowledging the fact that he was indeed still living and had not perished as he'd previously presumed. Raising a trembling hand, he ran it down along the clammy flesh of his face while simultaneously releasing an elongated breath, easing the tension from his physique. Although it had only been a dream, he was notably perturbed—reminded once again of his harrowing mortality by its habitual occurrence to invade his subconscious on a repetitive basis. Whether the dream displayed a premonition or was simply suppressed fear emerging from his subconscious, he couldn't say. However, it certainly contended with his resolve to refute no-win scenarios—as though it conveyed a sense of mockery toward his disposition to the matter.

Heaving a dejected sigh, he kicked at the bundle of blankets coiled around his feet, unconcernedly allowing them to cascade over the edge and onto the floor. Groaning softly, he grudgingly impelled himself to sit upright, swinging his legs over the side. Situated in a hunched position for a fleeting moment, he rose from the mattress and padded languidly over to the living quarters, swiping his communicator from the sleek surface of the desk.

Glimpsing at the chronometer, he released an amused breath as he flipped the device open—steeling himself for the impending reprimand, "Kirk to McCoy."

Seconds passed before the gruff southern drawl replied drowsily, _"Can't a guy get some damn sleep for once around here? I'm a doctor not a machine."_

Chuckling softly, he stated, "You know the rules, Bones, if the Captain's unable to sleep, neither can you."

An indignant snort filtered through the speaker, _"Watch it, Jim. I just _might _discover an ailment that would require me to place you on a hypo regimen." _

"I thought you were above malpractice?"

"_I've reconsidered."_

Jim responded with another amused chuckle.

"_Now," _Bones pressed on bitterly, _"is there a reason you called or do you get some kind of jollies off of waking a hardworking, tired old man in the middle of the damn night?"_

Sobering, he replied earnestly, "I…need to discuss something with you, could you meet me at my quarters?"

"_This can't wait until—?" _

"Bones…" He intoned.

A defeated grunt, _"Alright, give me ten minutes."_

The transmission cut abruptly. Shaking his head, he returned the communicator to the desk. Sauntering into the washroom to freshen up, he was startled by the unexpected appearance of his Vulcan first officer who simultaneously strode in from the opposite connecting door as well. Lurching as he halted, Jim analyzed his semblance with absolute astonishment—the man's attire and hair were remarkably immaculate as though he hadn't stirred or shifted while reposed. And from what Jim perceived, it was indeed a possibility.

In the time acclimating to his promotional duties, he quickly ascertained the precise conduct of Vulcans by the prime example of Spock—having only broached the subject of their race briefly while attending the academy. It was interesting, to say the least, studying his unprecedented disposition and mental dexterity daily—expelling what was perceived to be an almost indifferent, antagonistic aura while reciting—quite verbosely—rules and regulations that may have been overlooked. However, despite that, the commendations from Pike regarding Spock were incredible and thus prompted his hastened decision to maintain the Vulcan's position as first officer after acquiring the _Enterprise_.

Besides, who was he to judge on the aspect of anyone, let alone Spock?

"Oh…forgive me—I didn't realize you were in need of the facilities." Jim muttered expeditiously, stealing a fleeting glance over his shoulder at the door with uncertainty.

The Vulcan offered no rejoinder. Pivoting stiffly on his heel, he darted back into his own quarters with confounding haste, leaving Jim to stare after him utterly bemused. His mind reeled from the awkward encounter—had he inadvertently offended him somehow? A cultural difference he wasn't aware of perhaps? Albeit Vulcans had divulged their incapability to "feel", Jim translated Spock's unceremonious retreat to be that of disdain, mistrust.

In fact, now that it had come to his attention, Spock seemed to be a bit put off by Jim's authority. Only regarding him when his occupational requirements demanded it, or when addressed directly—eluding any colloquial encounters while off-duty. Granted, he did maintain his professionalism, but Jim did, nevertheless, note the nearly subtle difference in the way Spock addressed him by comparison to that of the crew. If he didn't know any better, he'd assume Spock was possibly upset with him. However, he acknowledged that his gut feeling shouldn't be based off of mere conjecture and speculation. Spock was a Vulcan after all.

Still…

He shook his head vigorously as though to clear his reserved musings before promptly shedding his sleepwear, and stepping into the sonic without further ado. Resting his head against his forearm as he leaned heavily against the shower wall, his mind once again wandered involuntarily to Spock.

For some inexplicable reason, the prospect of befriending him meant a great deal, and he wasn't entirely certain it was intended for occupational rationale. He'd need to devise a plan to coax Spock into a heart to heart conference.

Somehow…

* * *

"This better be good, Jim." Bones chided as he entered the captain's quarters. Dressed in his civvies, he shuffled toward the desk, a bottle of Saurian Brandy latched in his hand. Jim raised his eyebrows curiously toward the bottle, "Usually our _little chats_ require some kind of numbing agent, figured I'd bring this as a precaution." He clarified dimly.

"Ah. For a minute there, I thought you became an alcoholic."

Scowling, he groused, "There's only one person in this room capable enough to succumb to addiction, and it isn't _me_." Setting the bottle onto the surface of the desk with a soft _clink_, he swiftly descended onto the opposite chair, scrutinizing Jim heavily. "Now, what's so damn important that you felt compelled enough to drag me out of bed?"

Raking a hand through his sandy blond hair nervously, he sighed, "I've been experiencing this reoccurring dream, and I can't seem to shake it."

"You're kidding. You woke me up for a dream? Dammit, Jim, I'm a d_octor _not a _dream interpreter_."

"Bones…please." He pleaded, extending his hands for emphasis, "This is serious."

"Alright, alright." He relented, "What is it?"

"My death." Jim choked out at length. When Bones regarded him with an inquisitive stare, he continued, "Since we shipped off over a month ago for the five year mission, I've dreamt about the day I die—it's similar each time."

Nodding almost imperceptibly, the doctor inquired, "And what's the method—natural causes, accidental…?" He trailed off, flagrantly reluctant to mention the last option.

"To be honest, I'm not sure. It might've been on an away mission of some kind."

"Well that's reassuring." He stated dryly. "Any details you can recall?"

"Something about a bridge, and a voice inside my head." From the peculiar gaze he was receiving from Bones, he could easily assume he gave the impression of losing every damn marble he owned, "What?"

"Do you hear yourself? You can't seriously believe this illusion conjured up by your subconscious could hold any amount of merit, do you?"

"You know I don't believe in superstitions, Bones, premonitions being one of them, but..."

"But…?" He prodded, eyebrows hiking expectantly.

"I don't know, just something about it I can't put my finger on."

"Jim, it was only a dream." He intoned. "If you aren't sleeping well, I could offer a mild sedative."

Producing a glass from a drawer, he placed it gingerly onto his desk—reaching for the Saurian Brandy and untwisting the cap, "This is all the sedative I need." He proclaimed, the nozzle of the bottle clanging against the rim as he tipped it, the copper contents spilling forth.

"Your shift's in three hours. You know that hobgoblin first officer of yours won't hesitate to bite your head off—in a manner of speaking—if you show up for duty hung-over." Bones stated flatly, riveted on the glass clutched tightly in Jim's hand.

He hesitated, the doctor's warning resonating within him before a mischievous grin steadily advanced on his features. He could all but kiss the man for providing him the recourse he'd desperately desired—the idea so blatant, he questioned how he ever managed to miss the alternative.

"I know that look. What harebrained scheme are you concocting?" Bones intoned suspiciously, eyebrows imperceptibly furrowing.

Disregarding the inquiry, his grin expanded as he raised the glass, uttering a mirthful, "cheers" before tipping it back, permitting the fiery liquid to spill into the crevice of his mouth.

Spock would speak to him—he'd make sure of that.

* * *

"Keptin, are yew all right, sir?"

"Mmm?" He responded dismally, rubbing feverishly at his temples, groaning, "Oh, yes, Mr. Chekov—just fine."

"Yew are sure, sir? Should yew not go to ze sickbay?"

"No, I don't believe that's—"

"Captain."

Jim desperately fought back a smile—_success!_

"Yes, Mr. Spock?" He replied levelly, pleased that his master plan was now coming to fruition.

The Vulcan stood fluently with ramrod posture, shifting his arms behind him and clasping his hands at the small of his back. It didn't occur to him until he noted the dark eyes fixated on a distant focal point just an inch over his shoulder that his infallible scheme had already backfired. A sinking feeling overcame him as he steeled himself to be spurned—subtly in that meticulous Vulcan-like way of course.

"Perhaps you should heed the Ensign's concerns and return once you have attained optimal health." It wasn't a question, and his tone—Jim was undoubtedly certain—held underlining acrimony. "As Captain, your designated responsibilities require your undivided attention as casualties are highly to occur from fallacious judgments. Starfleet Order 104: Section C, states—"

"I'm _aware_ of what the order entitles, _Mr. Spock_, it's just a headache. I don't need to—"

"If you are indeed aware of the regulation, Captain, then you must know protocol mandates to report promptly to the Sickbay for an—"

"Yes, Mr. Spock, but—"

"—examination. Therefore, if you refuse to adhere to standard procedure, I have no alternative other than—"

"Enough!" Jim sputtered, startling the bridge crew with the abrupt inflection—Spock being the only one unaffected, "I'll go." He relented with flagrant reluctance, muttering bitterly under his breath, "I'll report for duty once the examination has concluded—Mr. Spock, you have the _conn._"

"Do you require an escort, Captain?"

The query caught him off guard as he grudgingly slid from the captain's chair, a spark of hope flickering to life—believing the demolished attempt at friendship could possibly be salvaged, "Are you offering, Mr. Spock?" He inquired with an uplifted tone, frowning as he pivoted to find the Vulcan's gaze averted.

"That would be illogical, Captain, as a superior officer is required to oversee command of the bridge in your absence as you may know. That is unless you were ill briefed on such regulations prior to assuming command."

The riposted rejoinder seemed a bit condescending, touching a nerve that Jim was unable to disregard.

Taking a few daunting steps toward the Vulcan, he stated emphatically, "It would behoove you to brush up on your anthropology, insulting your superior is grounds for insubordination."

"My apologies, I was merely speculating." He replied levelly, silently indicating the conclusion of their conversation as he rigidly brushed passed, descending onto the chair with unfaltering prestige.

Glowering at his first officer a moment longer than he'd desired, he whipped around and strode indignantly toward the lift. He was thoroughly convinced the damn Vulcan harbored animosity for him, and was being downright stubborn by concealing any plausible reasoning for the treatment. Were all Vulcans this canny? Maybe it would've been wiser to appoint Bones as his first—his quips were at least tolerable. Then again, Bones was already CMO, adding additional power could've proven hazardous, particularly for Jim.

"Lieutenant Uhura, please keep me posted on any considerable activity." He addressed her dryly, sauntering by.

"Aye, sir."

Gracing her with a taut smile, he replied sincerely, "Thank you." And with that, he entered the turbolift, and heaved a dejected sigh as the doors hissed shut.

* * *

"_So_…how'd it go?" Bones' amused tone was evident as he injected the hypo into the flesh of Jim's arm, hissing softly from the stinging pain.

Pinning him with a callous glare, he replied acrimoniously, "I never cared for elves in folklore."

The doctor responded with a derisive snort, "What'd you expect, Jim? The guy lacks in the emotional response department, remember? Attempting to rectify this, as you claim, 'rift' between you by purposely disregarding regulations isn't the right way to go about it. What made you think he would've cared if you were ill?"

Releasing a frustrated growl, he said exasperatedly, "I just don't understand! I've seen him interact with other crewmen—what the _hell _have I done to deserve the cold shoulder? I know this is the first time a mission of this duration has ever been attempted, and I'm still fairly new to the whole 'captain' role, but why is it only him who appears to have an issue with me?"

"How the hell should I know?" Bones retorted un-profoundly, "What do I look like—a psychologist?" Rolling his eyes with exasperation, he continued, "Besides, why is befriending him so important to you all of a sudden?"

"My…father once told me the greatest aspect of a captain is the friendship and loyalty of his first officer. George and his first were close, so were Pike and…" He trailed off, a figurative light bulb switching on in his mind.

Bones supplied—as though they were both attached to the same brain wave—the unspoken conscious thought, "You think it's possible Spock may be angry that you took his previous captain's place?"

"It's a theory…" He concurred, furrowing his eyebrows quizzically, "Wait, why'd you believe he's angry if you claim he has no emotions?"

"Dammit, Jim, I don't know, what do I look like—a xeno-anthropologist? I'm just a doctor—lord knows why you keep coming to me for advice on species behavior. Thought you learned I'm not your damn therapist while back at the academy."

"You know I have a faulty memory, Bones." Jim grinned, un-repentantly.

"If that isn't a load of bull, I don't know what is."

Jim was about to retort with a quip when the familiar chirp penetrated the enclosed space. Snatching the device from his belt, he flipped it open and stated levelly, "Kirk here."

"_Captain, you are needed on the bridge if you are able."_

Giving a sidelong, inquisitive glance toward the doctor, he inquired, "Am I?"

Rolling his eyes, Bones said flatly, "Tell that green-blooded hobgoblin I gave you a clean bill of health. Now get out of here before _I _get a headache."

Grinning, he quickly responded, "I'll be there shortly, Lieutenant."

"_Aye, sir."_

Nearly jogging, he re-boarded the lift and commanded the desired destination, steadily steeling himself to face the bridge after the little spat he participated in with his first officer only a short time ago. Perhaps threatening the Vulcan wasn't a wise choice, especially while attempting to be in his good graces. Nevertheless, Jim Kirk wasn't exactly one to grovel either—putting his foot down was well justified. After all, he still had to sustain some sense of authority regardless of social parameters.

The lift rattled slightly as the doors hissed open to reveal the bridge, spying Spock in mid-motion as he ascended from the chair.

"Keptin on ze bridge!" Chekov announced as per his designated duty.

"What have we got?" Jim inquired dutifully without preamble, striding toward the now vacant seat located directly in the center.

A planet rotated sluggishly on the view screen, the remarkable hues of blue captivated him instantaneously, clouds swirling with magnificent curls in the troposphere. Given its riveting beauty, the mass was considerably small—if Jim had to make an educated guess, it was probably one-third Earth's circumference. Undoubtedly, it had to be one of the distant outer planets of its own solar system—running its designated course along the elliptical path of its sun.

The million dollar question was—how had it been able to go undetected?

"Mr. Spock?" He inquired tentatively, chancing a fleeting glance toward the Vulcan who stood hunched over, analyzing the planet with keen interest.

"It is unregistered in the databanks, Captain, and appears to be a class "P" planet. The surface is overlaid with 84.3 percent solid ice, temperatures ranging between -45.5 to -12.2 degrees Celsius. Scanners indicate traces of life—possibly a small population of humanoids." He supplied evenly, eyes fixated on the task at hand.

"I see. How did this go unnoticed by our sensors?"

"There appears to be a high energy source protruding from the surface, jamming the trajectory of the sensors."

"What's the energy source?"

"Unknown, Captain."

Nodding almost imperceptibly, he averted his attention to the communication officer, "Lieutenant Uhura, open all channels—attempt to hail the surface."

"Aye, sir." She replied, fingers diligently working the knobs on the panel. After a palpable moment, she stated, "No response, just—"

An ear shattering screech suddenly erupted over the bridge, curtailing Uhura's rejoinder as it steadily gained intensity. Jim compressed the palms of his hands against his ears, the unbearable sound still piercing through his meager shields, ripping through his skull with red-hot pain—promptly bringing him to his knees as spurts of light danced in his vision. Every muscle tensed and coiled, straining to breathe as he curled into a protective ball, tears flooding down his reddening cheeks.

As quickly as the sound came, it retreated with similar haste—leaving Jim prone beside the command chair, panting as he gulped down air. Taking several agonizing minutes to regain composure, he gathered himself from the cool metal flooring, assessing the well-being of the bridge crew individually as they regained their bearings.

"Everyone all right?" He inquired breathlessly—voice sounding muffled due to the intense ringing resonating within his ear cavities.

After the collective responses of "I'm all right, Captain", he proceeded to perch himself limply onto the chair, massaging his aching scalp. Apparently, the visit to sickbay was all for not.

"Captain, we're being hailed by the surface."

Jim jerked his head to regard her with immense bewilderment, "On screen, please."

An intangible moment later, the view screen flickered—a pale-blue tinted skinned humanoid gazed with aphotic eyes, transfixed pointedly on Jim's form. It was difficult to indicate gender as the being appeared to possess no other discernible traits.

"You are Captain James Tiberius Kirk." It stated in a brusque voice.

"Yes." Straightening his posture, he inquired firmly, "Who are you, and why have you assaulted a Federation vessel with no provocation?"

The being ticked its head slightly as though intrigued, "You and one other may be privy to our society. Choose wisely—you have five of your earth minutes to arrive. Resistance would be unwise." The screen darkened.

Silence filtered in, the crew visibly tense as they regarded Jim with equal parts curiosity and apprehension. Before he could address them, the ship lurched starboard, rattling with the sudden force.

"Captain, a tractor beam has locked onto us and appears to be dragging us toward the atmosphere!"

"Warp us away from the planet, Mr. Sulu!" Jim commanded expeditiously, grasping the armrests with remarkable force, knuckles glowing white with the strain as another powerful lurch jolted him.

"Warp engines are nonfunctional! Main power and auxiliary are failing, sir!"

His heart took a flying leap into his throat, scanning the bridge until his eyes rested upon the dark form who scrutinized him heavily—an eyebrow raised a fraction of an inch expectantly. Sliding from the chair as the ship ceased its incredible jolts, he hastily addressed him with underlining desperation, "Mr. Spock, come with me."

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**A/N: Reviews, favorites, and follows are much appreciated!**


	2. Impia II

**A/N: Hope everyone enjoyed the holiday festivities! Here's my present to you—an update! (Yay!) This was especially difficult to complete given the fact I have other stories, and spent about a week playing host to family and friends (*collapses*). Hope this was worth the wait! Not a whole lot of "action" in this chapter, but I'll make up for it soon—promise. **

* * *

**Willow**

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**Arc I**

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**Impia II**

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"Jim, you can't go down there—this is obviously a trap!"

"What choice do I have, Bones?" Jim muttered dismally, hastily slipping on the thermal jacket, glancing concernedly over toward the Vulcan who silently mirrored his actions, careful not to meet his gaze. "Allow them to destroy the ship and harm my crew?"

Flagrantly vexed, he groused through gritted teeth, "What I_ don't_ understand is why it has to be _you_? You're the captain—"

"Which is precisely the reason I must go." Jim curtly interjected, fastening the belt at his waist diligently—eyebrows furrowed with malcontent. "They requested my presence specifically, and to defy their orders would undoubtedly jeopardize everyone's lives. Besides, I might be able to coax them into a peace treaty with the Federation. That is _if_ they're amenable."

"Then I'm coming with you." He proclaimed, moving to reach for a spare thermal draped haphazardly over the control panel.

"No!" The cerulean eyes of the doctor widened marginally at the inflection, and Jim quickly relented—extending his hand and grasping the man's shoulder, issuing a reassuring squeeze, "I'm sorry, Bones."

"Captain, perhaps the doctor's requisite skills would be preeminent for this expedition as you are highly susceptible to ailments. The duration exposed to the elements is quite unprecedented." The baritone voice stated neutrally from behind him—eliciting a sinking suspicion that the notion merely indicated a last ditch attempt to evade him.

Pivoting slightly to regard him, he retorted firmly, "I appreciate the suggestion, Mr. Spock, but your previous diplomatic experience is essential to our situation. Bones is the most inimitable medical officer aboard. I'd rather have him here as a preemptive measure for any unanticipated crisis."

A derisive snort pierced the air—curtailing any refutes the Vulcan possessed toward the final decision as Bones chimed in with blatant resignation, "Don't attempt to change his mind, Mr. Spock, the man is a stubborn mule."

A quizzical dark brow arched over the stoic, pale features, "Indeed?"

Another powerful lurch of the vessel prompted Jim to turn and bustle toward the transporter platform—positioning himself while securing the hood of the jacket over his head. The material was initially designed to withstand negative temperatures down to -30.5 degrees Celsius, indicating that if they were unsuccessful in the daylight hours, seeking shelter would be vital to their survival.

Spock silently maneuvered onto the platform and opted for the adjacent pad a few feet away—seemingly aggregated which unnerved Jim immensely.

"Mr. Spock." Bones chided, approaching the pad, cerulean eyes pinning the Vulcan with a callous stare—the dark eyes returning the gaze, "I won't pretend to know what qualms you have with the captain, but your return _will_ be an unpleasant one if adversity were to befall him under your watch."

"Bones…" Jim intoned lowly, eyes darting between them warily.

The dark eyebrow arched once more, "A threat, Doctor?"

Issuing a slight noncommittal shrug, Bones extended his hands for emphasis, "Take it as you will."

About to reprimand the doctor for his unwarranted presage, Jim was curtailed by an abrupt tingling sensation, familiar lights encasing him. Glancing across the room, he was astounded to find the operator—utterly dumbstruck over the unexpected commencement—was still standing a fair distance away from the console. The last sight he beheld were the doctor's widened, nearly panic-stricken eyes as the beam snatched him away.

Rematerializing, the frozen tundra steadily formed before him—staggering sideways as he was unexpectedly blasted with an icy gust of wind, lungs burning from the acute temperature adjustment—to put it bluntly, it was cold. Hacking as he attempted to regulate his breaths while acclimating to the environmental conditions, he turned to regard the Vulcan with concern. Usually one to suppress any display of discomfort, Spock's stoic composure was deteriorating almost rapidly. Hunched slightly, the Vulcan trembled violently despite the protective layering— the green undertone to his pale skin marred his immaculate features with bright olive-tinged splotches, the tip of his nose illuminating the peculiar color. If Jim had to describe him at the precise moment, he'd speculate Spock resembled a young child—an innocence radiating from him that he'd never quite think was possible.

If the circumstances had been more favorable, he'd almost go as far as to use "adorable" as the descriptor, but not out loud of course.

Wind roaring in his ears, snow pelted his eyes as he hollered, "Where the hell are they?"

Whipping out the tricorder, Spock's eyes narrowed, keenly concentrating on the screen, raising his voice in return, "The readings indicate their settlement is 1.5 kilometers west of our current location, Captain."

"Why would they beam us this far out?" He peevishly groused, teeth chattering incessantly. If they were so pertinacious about his presence, then why didn't the beings directly transport them to their village? "Well, in any case, we should press on before we freeze to death."

Perceiving the Vulcan's curt nod as a silent agreement, Jim stiffly pivoted toward their coveted direction—muscles protesting with each arduous step. The wind pounded against them as they trekked across the frozen wasteland—the snow crunching beneath their boots, the sound nearly lost to the deafening howl. The Vulcan inched a bit ahead, his superior strength dominating the elements almost with ease, glancing back periodically as though to check on Jim's status. At least he maintained his professional conduct instead of sustaining the previous antagonistic disposition—Jim could appreciate that much.

An outcrop manifested in the distance and as they sluggishly approached, and Jim quickly distinguished the shadowed outline as a foothill—the mountain range looming just beyond almost menacingly, hardly visible from the perpetual blizzard. The dark mouth of a cave emerged through the fog—eerie and intimating by its unfathomable depth, and came to a halt just a few feet shy of the entrance. Jim glanced warily toward the Vulcan, fumbling for his phaser with numb fingers—the gloves' purpose to keep the temperature regulated evidently failing.

"Although the precautionary measure is logical, it's assumable the inhabitants may perceive the action as a threat." Spock stated with a husky, scratchy voice—sidling up closer to him while still maintaining a considerable distance.

Sniffing to clear his airways, Jim hummed noncommittally as he fiddled with the device—his face tingling with similar numbness, "I'll set it to stun and keep it pointed down. If their initial purpose is to ambush us, I'd rather be prepared." The Vulcan unhinged his mouth to retort, flagrantly contentious, but before he could contest to the plan, Jim impelled himself into the suffocating darkness.

The intangible wall of black instantly threw off his senses. Shuffling cautiously with a hand outreached to guide him, he made his way deeper into the cavern at a painfully slow rate—footfalls reverberating around him. Albeit he successfully restrained his movements, Jim couldn't predict the upcoming terrain—losing traction on a slippery surface, he instantly careened backwards, landing hard onto his back, his skull cracking against the ice a moment later, breath escaping him with an audible whoosh of air. Hissing in a burning breath, the world shifted beneath him, prompting him to shut his eyes while he steadily regained his equilibrium—feeling utterly pathetic in the process.

A swish of cloth grated against his ears as his first officer traipsed over to him, his boots scraping the gravel beside Jim's head, abruptly halting beside him, "Are you injured, Captain?"

"No." Voice straining, he lied, "I'm all right." Suppressing a groan due to his throbbing head, he propped himself up on his elbows and blindly felt around for some sort of leverage to aid him to his feet.

Grasping onto an unidentified solid mass, he jerked slightly with alarm when the object unexpectedly moved—about to relinquish it when a trembling hand tentatively gripped his elbow, hoisting him up and permitting him to regain his bearings before precipitously releasing him. Only after a moment's reflection, he processed the hand had belonged to Spock—acknowledging he had aided him,_ touched_ him without the obligation of a direct command. The sudden cognizance of the Vulcan's altered conduct sent a surge of hope rushing through him.

"Thanks." He muttered wearily, but strangely sincere, "I can't see anything in here—I'm blind as a bat."

"That is an interesting and accurate simile of your biological extremities in this situation, Captain." The voice was absent of inflection, but held an undertone of mild amusement, "However, Vulcans possess keener vision than Humans—I am capable of maneuvering unhindered through the cavern and can offer assistance if required. Time as you phrase is of the essence, and therefore my guidance would be prudent."

Mulling over the options of either allowing Spock to escort him or risk injury to his person, he made a—dare he admit it—logical decision, "Well...since you're offering…" Extending a hand, he waved it around nearly frantically, feebly seeking out anything solid to grasp ahold of. The pads of his fingers brushed against the material of the Vulcan's jacket, latching tightly onto the broad shoulder—feeling Spock's physique instantly tense from the physical contact. "Lead on."

Silently, the Vulcan complied—maneuvering them further into the fathomless dark rigidly, his austere demeanor encompassing him like an intangible aura. Sense of time eluding him, Jim's concerns for the _Enterprise _and his crew increased. Blatantly solicitude over the matter whether they'd been spared or to his dismay already bereft of life, his mind automatically wandering to Bones, an invisible knot coiling in his core at the grim thought.

"Halt!" A deep brusque voice resonated from the caliginous depths, blue flames manifesting in mid-air, producing a soothing perimeter of heat.

The dim light bathed their surroundings—relinquishing Spock's shoulder, and dauntingly stepping forward, "I've come as you requested, now release my vessel." Four figures emerged from the shadows, clad in black cloaks, blue skin incandescent despite the poor lighting, aphotic eyes pinning him with an uncanny weight. "Who are you and what are your intentions in forcing our cooperation?" Jim demanded almost scathingly when they seemingly lacked a suitable rejoinder.

One swiftly parted from the group, gliding forward as though hovering, steadily approaching Jim until it stood within an uncomfortably close proximity. Inhaling a steadying breath, he steeled himself as he beheld the presumably vacant set of eyes, which turned out to be quite opposite—instantaneously captivated by the swirls of ethereal starlight stirring within them, the riveting beauty of space reflecting from the vast voids, galaxies rotating in primitive dances within them. The sight enthralled him, stealing coherency from him momentarily—a sense of calm flooding over him.

"We are the Impians—purveyors of purity." The being declared; the otherworldly tone elicited a shiver to crawl along his spine. "We protect and distribute all sacred components of intellectual species, including your planet of origin, young one. Do not fear—your vessel and the habitants onboard are unharmed, secured safely in our orbit. However, we will not release them as of yet."

"I don't understand." He stated neutrally, all previous frustration and fear abating considerably as though the Impian cyphered it from him.

"Your race has been tainted." It clarified, "Greed has befallen your kind—your 'Federation' has stolen an imperative asset to us, offsetting the prevalent balance."

"Stolen?" Jim scoffed dubiously, "We've never discovered your planet until now, there are no records stating—"

"There are none simply due to the fact the specific vessel that carried out the repugnant deed lies in ruin just beyond our borders."

Appalled, Jim stated acrimoniously, "I thought you said you represented purity."

"That is correct."

"Does violence and murder account for that?" Jim spat vehemently, anger returning in an overwhelming blaze.

The Impian tilted its head slightly, regarding him curiously, "It was necessary to preserve balance; however, we are not responsible for the assault." The stars within the eyes whisked away as though leaping into warp—focusing in on a specific yet familiar cluster in a galaxy, re-captivating him with their mystical wonder. "As recorded in your historical documents of oriental culture, there is indeed a yin to a yang. Our counterparts are purveyors of impurity—they are responsible for the violent act. The treasure that was removed from our care is also essential to them as well. Although our natures oppose, we flow as one unceasing current."

"Fascinating." Spock's baritone reverberated off the cavern walls, nearly causing Jim to leap out of his skin at the unanticipated interjection. "You're claiming that your species are equivalent to that of deities." The Vulcan took an almost hesitant step forward, hovering closer—spying the discernible lean structure from his peripherals.

"Indeed, we are." The being stated firmly, eyes transfixed on Jim, "We are the vital precursors to viability in the universe. We are the ones who guided your Surak toward tranquility, young one of two worlds."

_Two worlds?_

Jim almost painfully tore away from the extraordinary eyes, glancing over to him inquisitively, noticing the dark brow lift a fraction of an inch as Spock replied levelly, "I see."

He was undoubtedly certain the Vulcan did _not _believe that statement, merely refraining from any contentious remarks toward the illogical postulations simply due to the unpredictable circumstances.

"What is it you want from us?" Jim demanded, redirecting the conversation to a more beneficial prospect.

"We desire you to retrieve that has been stolen."

Glancing fleetingly toward his first, he licked his cracked lips nervously, "Ah. Well, that certainly can be done. We'll just beam back to the _Enterprise_ and—"

"That is not permissible." The Impian curtly interjected, "Your race is quite notorious for fleeing under unforeseeable circumstances. This journey will be required to be accomplished on foot. Once you have returned our treasure, we shall relinquish your vessel."

It was transparently clear there would be no alternative method or further discussion of the matter.

With no other choice, he conceded to their demands, releasing an exasperated breath through his nostrils, "Alright…what exactly are we attempting to find?"

* * *

"Mr. Spock!" Jim shouted above the roaring wind, panting heavily as he fought against the intense blasts—the Vulcan hardly visible in the haze of snow and ice, trailing painstakingly slow behind him. The storm steadily increased in extremity with altitude, barely making any headway before the daylight began to dim.

Jim waited patiently as Spock hiked up the slope beside him, the green splotches on his features darkening in hue, complexion adopting a fluorescent yellowish tint. If the conditions were exceedingly unpleasant to a Human, he could only speculate it had to be downright unbearable for a Vulcan—their race did thrive on a scorching, desert world after all. Perhaps his decision to appoint his first officer to accompany him wasn't exactly the wisest he'd made in his career thus far—a pang of contriteness overcoming him as he briefly surveyed the man's state.

"We should find shelter."

Nodding curtly, Spock replied with a diminutive waver to his voice, "I have already located a cavern along the cliffs one kilometer north from our current position. It should be sufficient for inhabitability until dawn."

The trek to the grotto was incredibly laborious, and once inside, the shelter merely offered a barricade from the ravaging high winds, the air maintaining frigid like temperatures. Numbly shuffling toward the back wall, he tugged the phaser from his belt—nearly dropping it in the process—and pointedly shot at a random boulder amongst several that littered the ground until it glowed a menacing deep hues of orange and crimson. Promptly seating himself before it, a violent shiver wracked his physique as the billowing aura heated the flesh of his face—sluggishly divesting the gloves, he carefully rested his hands inches above the flaming rock, and heaved a simultaneous contented sigh. Although the source of heat was adequate enough for their survival, Jim acknowledged it would be nearly impossible to sustain it the entire duration of the night—the only option to heat it sporadically until morning.

Rubbing his hands to create friction, he silently observed as his first officer stiffly descended onto the frozen ground beside him, inching closer than Jim would've dared, and angling toward the heat as though he were intending to cradle it. Although his face had deadpanned, the desperate display in his form betrayed him, the consistent violent tremble prominent and exceedingly disconcerting.

Rather than inquiring about the obvious, Jim opted for a more benign and constructive approach in hopes to bridge the gap indubitably separating them, "What kind of hobbies do you enjoy? You know, like hiking, or acquiring certain collectables?"

The dark eyes glimpsed his direction in brief acknowledgement, a small victory in itself, "I do not partake in frivolous activities, it would be an illogical use of time and energy."

"C'mon, Spock." Jim needled, ditching the formalities momentarily, "Surely there must be something you enjoy in your downtime—reading, writing, music, games?"

The Vulcan fell irritatingly silent, eyelids sliding shut to block Jim out once again, no doubt finding his colloquial conversation to be irrelevant. A tick worked in his jaw—equal parts affronted and baffled by the blasé demeanor, and at a complete loss of how to rectify it. Being quite adapted to the limelight between his famous father and his outstanding demonstrations of dexterity, Jim unfortunately failed to discover how incredibly unaccustomed he was to such inherent aversion and impassivity—fighting the desire to scream out in frustration.

"Have I done or said something to piss you off?" Jim spouted out almost involuntarily, glowering.

The Vulcan's façade didn't falter as he proclaimed levelly, "Vulcans are incapable of such emotion."

"I think I can contest to that."

A dark eyebrow inched up the discolored flesh of his face, "Indeed?"

Sighing exasperatedly, he proceeded to ramble off the checklist of disparaging social ethics, "You've been purposely avoiding me, evading any conversation I attempt to strike up with you, and un-restrictively demonstrating your resolve to consistently state any fault I may possess or second guess my commands." Releasing an indignant huff, he added dolefully, almost as an afterthought, "Since it appears you hold contempt for me that'll continue to go unresolved, I'm willing to sign your transfer papers once we return if that's what you wish."

There—he had all but heaved the ball into the Vulcan's court, permitting him the opening to either return it to play or leave it exactly where it lied. Of course the setting wasn't exactly appropriate for broaching the sensitive subject, but Jim wasn't about to surrender this golden opportunity to delve into the inner workings of his bewildering mind. He certainly wasn't about to force anyone to submit themselves to loyalty, let alone Spock—it simply wasn't in his nature.

Dark eyes pinned him with an undecipherable gaze, fixated for several palpable minutes before he abruptly averted them. A weighted silence draped over them, the wind roaring passed the mouth of the grotto in angry bursts, the final traces of sunlight receded as darkness swiftly descended over the planet—the dim glow of the boulder their only means of light and warmth. And although the temperatures were harsh, it paled in comparison by the intangible ice forming between them as they periodically stoked the blaze.

"Captain."

"Yes, Mr. Spock?" He queried dismally, glancing toward the stoic face who regarded him with something akin to concern—the discoloration on his features abated, but the tremble in form remained distinct.

"Perhaps it would be wise to rest."

Jim released an audible breath through his nostrils, "We can't both sleep _and _sustain the heat source. Why don't you doze for a while since it's self-evident you need it more than I do?"

"Vulcans do not require significant amount of rest and your energy resources are considerably limited compared to—"

"Don't force me to order you, Mr. Spock." Jim interjected curtly, and although he intoned a threat, he found it surprisingly lacking vigor. "If we're going to accomplish this onerous mission, I need you to be efficient, alright?"

The Vulcan's head ticked to the side, dark eyebrows lifting a fraction of an inch in consideration, confounding Jim immensely as he concurred with astounding resignation, "Very well."

"That's it?" Jim scoffed incredulously—nonplussed, "You aren't going to argue—no 'regulation' or 'protocol' stored in that arsenal of yours to ceaselessly beat me with?"

Inclining his head, Spock pinned him with a puzzled stare, "It is impossible to physically assault you with a regulation, Captain."

A grin steadily expanded over his features, fighting the compelling urge to laugh, "Well…it could be considered similar by a certain degree."

"I see." Shifting slightly, he repositioned himself into a meditative pose—promptly resealing his eyes, the lean physique's rigidity unremitting, "It is merely captain's prerogative to dictate mission procedures and therefore be illogical to engage in a dispute."

Shaking his head disbelievingly, Jim hummed noncommittally in response—leaning backward against the rocky interior wall. Shivering as the temperature commenced another critical dip, he analyzed the boulder's heat dissipating rapidly, evoking him to nearly empty his phaser to increase its thermal reading.

Permitting his eyes to close for a few hard-earned moments, his mind involuntarily reeled from the recent events. The throbbing ache at the back of his skull that had seemingly vanished with the bitter cold unexpectedly returned with a vengeance, the world shifting slightly beneath him, nausea burning up his throat. He groaned inwardly—Bones would undoubtedly blow the injury out of proportion, forcibly removing him from the active duty roster, and detaining him in sickbay before promptly seeking out the Vulcan for one of his infamous "heart to heart" sessions, especially after asserting his predisposition of an ominous requital.

"Chess, Captain."

Jim jerked at the sudden baritone, eyes snapping open, "What?"

Inhaling a deep breath, he reiterated profoundly, "I would not be opposed to partake in a chess match as I've come to observe it is equal parts stimulating and strategically practical."

Invigorated by the tiny amount of headway achieved, Jim's lips twitched with a smile, nodding almost imperceptibly, "Alright, I'll hold you to that." Chuckling softly, he stated, "Just to forewarn you, I was reigning champion back at the academy, and not a soul has surpassed me since."

A dark brow arched curiously, "Arrogance has proven to be a degrading shortcoming in mankind's history."

The smile expanded, regarding the Vulcan with newfound admiration—the prospect of the challenge exhilarating, "Then I guess I should expect a victory from the more 'astute' race."

Dark eyes unexpectedly locked with his, a fleeting thought flickering within their depths, "Indeed."

Grinning triumphantly, he folded his arms over his chest, scrutinizing his first officer with heightened determination—relaxing into the groove of the wall as the Vulcan fell silent again.

Apparently arrogance wasn't just a solitary Human trait.

* * *

**A/N: This chapter came out a bit shorter than anticipated, sigh, oh well. Thank you for reading! All reviews, favorites, and follows are much appreciated!**


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